I'd Fly the River
by FinnFiona
Summary: Seeking an outlet for his worry and his heart, Aramis writes a letter to his newborn son. Athos makes certain he isn't alone when he does.


Author's Note: So happy to have this show back, and have been enjoying this storyline… Just a little something I haven't been able to get out of my mind. Thanks for reading, and for your feedback!

Disclaimer: Very much not mine, but who doesn't love taking these boys out for a spin? (Title loosely borrowed from a line in Fare Thee Well, as sung by Oscar Isaac.)

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><p><em>Dear-<em>

"No..."

_My dearest-_

"No. Definitely not."

_My son,_

"There we are," Aramis sighed.

"There _you _are," Athos' voice came, unannounced, from the open doorway.

"You startled me," Aramis frowned, fidgeting with the quill in his hand.

"I _am_ sorry," Athos replied, in a tone that suggested he was not. "The others are looking for you. Porthos wants to shoot melons to impress the new recruits, and D'Artagnan isn't yet drunk enough to agree they be placed atop his head."

"Ah," was Aramis' preoccupied reply. He didn't much feel like reveling tonight. Not any night, recently, to tell the truth...

"What are you doing up here?" Athos tried the more direct approach.

"Can't a man enjoy a few moments solitude in his own chambers?"

"He can," Athos smirked, "but it isn't really your style."

Aramis' affronted snort was half-hearted at best.

"Besides," Athos went on, undeterred, "I cannot recall the last time I spotted you with ink and blotter."

"I'm writing a letter," Aramis replied defensively.

"I'd noticed," was the dry retort. Athos leaned into the doorframe. "To whom, pray tell?"

"Must you ask?"

"I must," Athos came further into the room, heading for the decanter of wine on the corner table."

"It's to..." Aramis swallowed, eyes downcast, "it's to my son," he finished quietly.

Athos only raised an eyebrow.

"Oh don't look at me like that, Athos," Aramis snapped peevishly, "I'm going to burn it straight away."

"I never said a word," Athos countered calmly.

"You didn't have to," the wind blew out of Aramis' sails.

"Wine?" Athos held up a second glass. Aramis shook his head. "You may be a tad foolhardy," Athos continued, taking a seat on the opposite side of the small writing table. "But I know you are not stupid."

Aramis' shoulders sagged. He wasn't so convinced of that, himself.

Athos, per usual, comported himself in silence.

"So you're staying, then?" Aramis couldn't help the edge of exasperation.

"It's blissfully quiet up here," Athos shrugged. "Please, don't allow me to forestall you further," he added, gesturing to the parchment arrayed under Aramis' fingertips.

"Very well..." Aramis' cheeks flushed slightly, but he supposed there was no help for it, once Athos had made up his mind.

_My son, _he began afresh.

_There is a great deal I wish I might tell you._

_And yet I cannot tell you the thing that claws fiercest at my heart and soul - that you are __my__ son. _

_Athos believes to admit such would put you and your mother in grave danger. He is right, of course. As it happens - and you would do well to heed this, as he will likely lead the Musketeers for you one day - your Uncle Athos is rarely wrong. In fact, I believe he is the wisest man I know. _

_But you mustn't tell him I said so. _

_I named him your uncle, did you note that? Perhaps not by blood, but he, Porthos, and now D'Artagnan are brothers to me in every way that matters. I pray you may one day know this kind of friendship. I implore you to search for it until you do, for you will never find such loyalty and companionship as in a brother. _

Aramis paused, considering.

"Are you planning to tell them?" Athos spoke.

Aramis' eyes shot up, afraid for a moment that Athos had been reading as he wrote. But the elder musketeer's eyes were firmly fixed on the crackling fire.

So only that uncanny ability to know his thoughts, then. Wonderful.

"Tell who, what?" Aramis tried lightly, just to be sure.

"Porthos and D'Artagnan, about the Dauphin," Athos met his gaze levelly.

Aramis sighed heavily. "I cannot bear to put them in danger as well," he repeated the mantra he'd formed for himself every time he felt guilty for keeping such an immense secret. At least Athos knew. At least he wasn't _completely_ alone in his thoughts.

He might have gone mad, then.

"Not to mention Porthos will kill you for keeping it from him this long," Athos tipped his wine cup to mask the curve of a grin.

"Self-preservation is key," Aramis jested, more genuinely than he'd felt even a few minutes earlier, and turned back to his letter.

_I know it will be difficult for you, to believe in those around you as true friends. There will be many that wish to manipulate you, take advantage of your position and power. _

_If naught else, I hope you shall always know me as one you may trust. _

_Your mother, I know, will be forever by your side. She is a fine woman. Merciful, kind... And strong. She will guide you, when I cannot. _

"I wish I could speak with her..." Aramis muttered aloud.

"You know it wouldn't be a good idea," Athos repeated the oft-uttered phrase, though not unkindly.

Aramis didn't bother with pretense this time. "But every time I see her, every time I am in her presence, it is torture."

"Those feelings will fade," Athos countered.

And though Aramis knew he was fortunate to have his friend's steady reason to still his more reckless desires, he couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration at the relentless logic.

"Will they?" Aramis bit out. "Has that been your experience, Athos? _And_," he didn't await a reply, "after all that has happened, what if she is already at risk? What if the Cardinal knew something?"

Athos pursed his lips. "My experience has been that holding onto these thoughts does little good. But," he raised a hand to cut off Aramis' argument, "I recognize the difficult position you are in. I hope you know I understand."

Aramis nodded, somewhat abashed.

"Good," Athos allowed a rueful smile. "You may be right about the Cardinal..." he paused, contemplative. "We might ask Constance to help reach the Queen discreetly," he suggested.

"And bring her into this mess?" Aramis replied, having already considered the possibility as soon as Constance assumed her new position. "Now it's D'Artagnan who will kill me."

"She need not know the purpose," Athos pointed out, "but you have a point about D'Artagnan," he added with an acquiescent smile. His attention seemed to turn far-off, inward. "Perhaps Ninon would have some suggestion particular to the ways of Court..."

"_Ninon_?" Aramis couldn't help his grin, surprise erasing his cares for the moment. "So you _are_ in contact with her?"

Athos quirked his jaw. "She has written... occasionally."

"I knew it," Aramis crowed, "you sly fox. Porthos owes me five livre."

Athos sighed, though Aramis could see he wasn't nearly so put out as he pretended. "I'll think on it. We'll come up with something."

Aramis only chuckled.

_Your mother is truly one of a kind. Yet if I teach you anything, it may as well be that all women are superior to our sex in every way. Than even kings. _

_Yes, I know. But women... they have a power you must respect. They are the most enchanting creatures - and, some would say, the most vexing. But if you are like me, you will love them, and be the better for it. _

_In truth, it is my sincere prayer that you will love all your subjects. That you will learn to rule them with justice and humility. I will not pretend to be a nobleman, skilled in the affairs of state. But I have seen my share of kings. Neither glory nor riches are worth the price of your honor, nor are they as hard to win back. _

Aramis paused, then, looking up into Athos' shadowed profile. If he felt Aramis' gaze, he didn't indicate it.

_If ever you are unsure of your path, do not be afraid to seek good counsel. It is not any man's destiny to move through life alone. _

_With any luck, you shall grow to lead a more just and peaceful France than you were born into, and these words will seem a trifle. But if that should not come to pass, you will see to it that it becomes so - I know that in my very being. _

_Yet here I am, placing these heavy burdens on you, and not even a month out of your mother's womb. If God is good, you shall see many happy, carefree years before such cares fall on your shoulders. _

_In these years and - perhaps more importantly - every year thereafter, you must cherish those happy moments. You must be grateful for the wonders of heaven and earth. _

_And you must - this is very important - have a little fun, now and again. _

_These are the things I wish for you, my son. The things I would tell you if I could - will endeavor always to show you in whatever small chances are afforded me. _

_I know there will be hurts and trials from which I cannot shield you. But I shall watch over you all my days, and guard your life and happiness with my own. _

_I pray that will be enough, for both of us. _

_Go with peace and love,_

_Your most devoted servant_

"There," Aramis released a heavy breath, fingers gliding gently over the paper to fold it closed. He felt some sense of relief, but the deep sadness that had settled in his bones of late would not wholly relinquish its hold.

He slid the letter towards Athos. "Would you..?" he asked quietly, gesturing at the fire.

Athos looked between the letter, flames, and Aramis' face. He turned the thin paper between his fingers, tapping the edge to the table once before standing.

Yet he didn't move for the hearth, but rather secured the second cup and decanter from the corner. He took his time pouring a few fingers of wine and pushing the glass toward Aramis, before refilling his own cup. The letter he placed at the edge of the table.

"It can wait a few moments," he spoke at last. "Let us sit awhile longer."

A small smile of gratitude graced Aramis' features. "Thank you, my friend."

Athos raised a self-deprecating eyebrow. "Remember you said that when next I bodily restrain you from making a poor decision."

Aramis laughed, but his eyes were serious. "Truly, Athos. Thank you."

Solemn, Athos inclined his head and raised his glass.

They drank in companionable silence until the fire was nearly out. When he was ready, Aramis placed the letter into the embers himself and watched as it was reduced to dust, carried off on the cool night air.


End file.
